b r e a k me d o w n
by knee-high-socks-and-doctor-who
Summary: Gilbert Beilschmidt will do anything to save his baby brother. Life is turning to death, and bonds of trust are crumbling under his weight. When members of his past come back to haunt him and he gets tangled up in a dangerous game with the mafia, he realizes just how much he'll sacrifice to make sure Ludwig stays alive, even though the cause of death lies within his own veins.
1. Chapter 1

A few things I'd like to address before you start reading.

This is rated M for violence and language. And some pretty sensitive material. These characters are obviously meant to be out of character, because these are almost entirely different people. They are under different circumstances with different histories and choices to make. There is a twist in this story. And the characters introduced in this chapter are not necessarily the only characters you'll see. There are more stories than just this. Everyone is connected in their own way, whether through other people or directly.

The purpose of this is not only to write a story about these characters, but to explore _what people will do_ under extreme stress and circumstances to save someone they love. I've recently had a death in the family, and I've realized that everyone copes with grief differently. Even myself.

This is basically my own processing and almost what I'd call "writing therapy". If you want to give some polite notes to me to help out with the quality of this story, then that's all right. But I'll let you know I take these very personally, because this work is very personal.

Thank you. This will probably be one of the only author's notes in this, because I find it useless to add any otherwise.

* * *

_background music:  
_

_break my soul (instrumental) by hybrid  
_

* * *

_Don't go away._

There's a flicker of resistance in the ribbons, untying themselves slowly and carefully from their position around the albino's mouth, an untangling bloody mess. His hands scrape at the surface, as the watery iron flavored substance chokes him. It's the sensation of being underwater that sends terror ripping through his spine like a jagged knife on metal.

_I don't want to die._

His breath hitches, and more of the liquid is slowly inhaled, taking the air from his lungs with it. A hand reaches out, trying to find him in the cloudy lake of blood stained water.

"_I'm here, Gilbert. I'm here."_

Gilbert gasps awake, hands clawing at his throat as he jolts into a sitting position.

"Don't scream." A hand is placed over his mouth, and he's forced to puff air out of his nose, eyes wide in alarm. "You're okay. You weren't drowning. It wasn't real."

_But it felt so real._

"Gilbert, _breathe._" The albino's brother pulls the hand away, slowly, and he remains in the same position. Still staring at the wall with quarter sized eyes and breath coming out in insistent puffs.

"How did you know I was drowning?" he whimpers.

"You're very predictable," Ludwig replies with a low chuckle. "Or maybe it's just instinct." His voice lowers as he nudges his nose in Gilbert's hair, a familiar gesture from his childhood meant to calm him down.

"What day is it?"

"Wednesday."

"_Shit_," Gilbert bolts from his bed and stumbles into the kitchen, tripping over his own feet as they slip along the tile and reach the door. He's already pulling his shoes on as he rearranges his clothing, wrinkled and slept on from the night before.

"Wait," a calm voice urges as Gilbert tugs the door open. Hands wind around his waist and pull him backwards. "Can't leave without this."

The uptight little boy that Gilbert used to know is long gone. And he has been for a while. Ludwig pulls his older brother into sloppy kiss, filled with tongue and saliva. The elder backs away, not for the reason that it was bad, but because he'll be late for work if he waits any longer.

The apartment building stinks of leaky pipes and dust, if that's even possible, and every floorboard under every footfall creaks as the albino bolts down the stairs and into the lobby. He has no time to chat with any of the other tenants, and immediately regrets leaving the house without a jacket as he bursts into the rain.

"Damn it," he curses under his breath, and curses his brother too for not noticing the weather and insisting on the jacket, which he would've probably resisted anyways. "Damn it all to hell."

_So much water. So much water._

"Don't think about it, Gil. Everything's fine. A little water won't hurt you."

He winds around the morning crowds, dodging puddles along the way. A few people curse at him as he knocks around, splashing here and there on his rush to work. It's not ten minutes until he arrives to the old, brick townhouse with the bottom floor renovated into a shop of sorts. It's the checkpoint for the deliveries. Gilbert had picked up the job not long ago, assuming that delivering mismatched things here and there on a motorcycle wouldn't be that bad. A Turkish man named Sadiq owns the business; he is always a bit flaky, and likes to stir trouble up with the neighboring store, where a Greek man and his Japanese partner sell odds and ends. One of his closer coworkers is a man from Switzerland named Vash, who always carries a loaded gun on him and hates talking to people he dislikes at first glance.

The first time Vash had seen Gilbert, he'd turned to Sadiq and said: "Why in the hell did you hire a seventeen year old, spindly little kid?"

"I'm twenty-six," he'd responded quite quickly with a biting edge.

The albino had always been smaller than his younger brother. I mean, it was only a three-year difference, but Ludwig had always managed to outweigh him in height and everything else. Even maturity. He was often mistaken for a seventeen or eighteen year old because of how thin and gangly he was, with knobby joints and an awkward stance. All of his clothes were baggy on him, and it only made him look smaller, and he looked especially thin when he borrowed Ludwig's clothes.

Gilbert slips a bit on the wet pavement, and slides up to the front doors of the shop. As he goes to open it up, the door to the building adjacent opens, and a girl steps out. She's Asian, of what origin, Gilbert wouldn't know. But she's wearing a school uniform to one of the nicer schools in town, and as she adjusts her book bag, she notices Gilbert and waves with a smile.

"Hi Tally," Gilbert waves back. He'd met her once before, when he'd almost ran her over with the bike one day. She'd introduced herself as Tally. Kiku's younger sister. She doesn't usually talk all that much, and even as they'd conversed she hardly spoke more than two sentences at a time.

Gilbert shoves open the door to the shop, which always sticks when it rains or there's bad weather, and nearly knocks right into a very angry Emil. The Scandinavian grunts and shuffles past Gilbert, making no further comment.

Sitting with his feet propped on the desk is Sadiq, barely glancing up as Gilbert enters, noticeably late. That was one thing that the German liked about his job. The fact that his boss didn't mind all that much when he was late. It just meant less of a paycheck for him.

Vash has his white _Beats by Dr. Dre _headphones on, glaring as Gilbert walks in. The albino shuts the door behind him and approaches the desk where Sadiq is reading a magazine.

"I'm here," _and sopping wet._

The Turk glances up. "And twenty minutes late. What happened this morning?"

"Got sidetracked, is all. Woke up late."

"Hmm…" he taps his finger on the surface of the desk. "Vash, what shift are you taking?"

It's a miracle that he could even understand what Sadiq had said, what with his headphones on. But it seems he'd just been watching the conversation, and the slight gesture of Sadiq's head and his moving lips gave him the signal that he was being talked to.

Vash pulls his headphones away, letting them hang loose around his neck. "Huh?"

"Shift?" the brunette raises an eyebrow, and the blonde just rolls his eyes.

"What the hell do you think? I always go after him. He won't ride in the bad neighborhoods. I was just hanging out here cause he was late." He tosses a dirty look in Gilbert's direction. "So what do you want me to do? Pick up his deliveries?"

"If you want to," Sadiq replies with a sigh. He shuffles a few of the knick-knacks on his desk around, thinking. "How about you, Gil?"

He looks up and brushes a piece of limp silver hair out of his eyes, and wrings a bit of water out of his shirt. "Just give me an address. I don't care."

He wonders for a moment if he should ask about Emil. The kid had stomped out of there so angry; Gilbert could almost assume it was Sadiq. The two of them had a strange dynamic, and by strange, Vash usually meant "sexual tension".

Gilbert is handed a package and an address, sent off to go deliver on the other side of town. He leaves quietly, and the others make no comment.

—

Lovino hates these days.

These are the days where he's forced to visit, forced to make the choice of whether or not he _really loves him_. But does that matter, most of the time? No, more often than not it doesn't.

The elevator door slides open, and reveals the shiny marble entryway of the upper floor of the business building, housing many offices. The Italian glowers, scuffling out and pulling his fedora down lower on his brow. The secretary at the desk glances up, and smiles, putting a phone on hold to help him.

"I'm here for Mr. Fernandez Carriedo."

The blonde nods, and pulls the phone back to her ear. She says a few more things, curt and blunt before hanging up. "You can go right in. You must be Lovino, right?"

"Why yes, _Katyusha_. He's told me a lot about _you_." Lovino forces back the smile. "I'll be seeing you." He waves to her as he strolls down the hall in the direction of Antonio's office.

"Don't get him too riled up this time!" she shouts after him.

_Oh, that's right. _Last time Lovino got him angry and he nearly destroyed his entire workspace. Katyusha was nice about it, but gave him a firm warning afterward. Lately the big shot businessman has been a little shaky in the emotions department.

Lovino doesn't even bother to knock. It's a waste of time, and Antonio already knows he's coming. But as he opens the door, he doesn't expect to see him standing over by the far wall, made of glass to overlook the city, speaking to another man in a suit seated in a chair in front of the desk, who looks utterly bored.

They stop, and the blonde man looks up from his seat.

"Ah, Lovi, you're here. I almost forgot." The Spaniard absently shoves his hands into his pockets, a habitual gesture that usual signals him being uncomfortable. "Come in. Sit down." He pauses and sighs. "I hope you don't mind leaving it at that, Arthur. We'll meet again tomorrow, if you want."

"No, I don't mind," the Brit casts a glance at Lovino as he rises from his chair. "We'll talk another time."

He leaves without another word.

"Sit down, Lovi. It's nice to see you again."

"You always say that," the Italian replies blandly, but takes a seat anyway. "I know last time didn't go very well."

"It usually doesn't."

There are these cold, gritty moments when Antonio isn't Antonio. He's the Not-Antonio, the Antonio that's distant and bitter, and violent in every way. It's scary, disturbing. But Lovino won't leave him, even if he tries to convince himself that he doesn't love him at all. It's too hard.

"What do you need from me this time?"

"A favor," the Spaniard blurts out suddenly. "But I'm not going to force you to do anything, Lovi. I know you won't do it if _I _ask you."

"What is it?"

"Leave me," there's a smile in his voice, painting the edges with malice still covered in false pleasantries. "If it was your idea, maybe you'd actually follow through with it, but I'm not entirely sure you would. If you leave me I almost guarantee you'll live a better life."

"I'm not leaving you."

A flash of light blinds Lovino from behind his eyelids as he's slammed into the wall, hot breath in his face. Antonio's grip tightens around the collar of his shirt as his fist shakes uncontrollably.

"I'll kill you. I'll kill you if I have to, you need to leave me." Anger, hurt, and frustration flit across his eyes. "I know how _fucking hard _it is for you to forget about your brother. Little Feliciano, _selling _himself on the streets. Your grandfather, who tried to help you but you were a lost cause, going to burn in hell for your _sins_, for loving another man. The fact that you work for the mafia because you think it'll make you feel better during the meantime, until you get yourself killed because you're secretly suicidal. I _know _what hurts you, makes you cry. And I'll make you hurt. I could say that I can't help it, but that would be the worst lie."

"You're not Antonio. You're not the man I know." Lovino knows no way to strike back, and this hurts even more. Because no matter _how much _he put up that barrier, Antonio always found a way in. No matter if he was drunk, tired after sex, or just beat after a day of work. He weaseled his way in and infected him. But Lovino knew next to nothing about his lover. _Nothing._

"No, I suppose not," a muscle underneath his eyes twitches, and that look of absolute rage dissolves like sugar in water. "But I'm not the man you want me to be either."

That kiss Lovino's waiting for never comes, because the thin, gangly albino kid in the doorway is holding a package with a frightened expression on his face.

Antonio seems to recognize him through a flash of concern in his eyes, tongue coming out to run over his lips in an anxious habit.

"I forgot," Antonio says absently, off somewhere else in that tangled brain of his. "I had another meeting with someone, Lovino. Sorry, I— I guess I'll see you next week."

"Kicking me out? So unlike you." The bit of dry humor doesn't seem to be appreciated at the moment, and the Italian weasels his way around the white-skinned freak.

Nothing matters at the moment except for the fact that he'd truly, completely forgotten about his brother until Antonio had mentioned him.

And this makes him extremely guilty.

—

"It's been such an absolutely long time since I've seen you, Gilbert. And now, you're here, delivering me a package?"

Seated at his desk, Antonio is almost more intimidating than he was when he was standing. But either way, he's still smiling at him like he's a piece of meat; ready to pounce when the opportunity comes. The package is placed in Gilbert's lap, still not yet taken by the Spaniard.

"Yes."

"The last time I saw you we were working together, and you were sick. You were sick a lot back then, weren't you? Really, _really _sick." He taps a finger on his pursed lips. "But I remember you getting better really fast as well. That was always a mystery to me."

"I got help."

"From your brother?"

A small gasp escapes his lips. "Why is that the only thing you remember?"

Antonio leans back in his chair, clasping his hands behind his head. "What would you do to save your brother?"

"What are you—?"

"You know that I know, Gilbert." An unsettling smile twitches at the corners of his lips. "It's killing him from the inside out, burning him to death. It's eating his soul."

"By it, you mean his blood?" Gilbert replies weakly.

"Not only his blood, but his very essence. It runs in you as well of course, or else you'd be dead by now." A brief look of sympathy passes over his face, but then disappears again. "I have one thing to ask of you though."

"What is it?" Gilbert's gone quiet, and he stares at the box in his lap. He wonders what could possible be in this box that needed to be delivered via underground delivery service. Was it _that_ bad?

"Give me a few pints of that magic blood of his, and I'll help you out." Antonio leans over his desk, face closer in proximity than it had ever been before. "What do you say? Can you trust me, _Gilbert?_"

Lips barely brush over the opposing ones, but Gilbert leaps from his seat, and throws down the package in a rush to escape.

"Is that a yes?"

The albino has his back pressed to the door, reaching blindly for the knob. "Yeah. I suppose it is." He finally manages to get the door open with shaking hands and leaves on wobbling knees.

"It's been nice seeing you Gilbert!"

—

Gilbert doesn't want to go back to work.

Because the prospect of going back means he has to go home, and going home means he'll have to face his brother. He doesn't want to have to pull out that syringe, or sit in the shower for an hour until the water runs cold. What Gilbert wants is to forget about everything that Antonio had said, and to curl up in bed with Ludwig and sleep for four days.

But obviously God isn't on his side.

The door jingles loudly as Gilbert pushes it open, deadbeat tired and soaking wet. His clothes hang heavy on his body and make him look even paler and thinner than he already is. It's unattractive, and he makes note of this in a store window as he passes by.

"…I really don't think I can help you. I can't necessarily give out information of my employees sir."

The smell of leather and dust cause Gilbert to sneeze, _a killer combination._ This catches the attention of the two strangers standing at the desk, where Sadiq looks about as confused as ever. He wasn't really keen on helping people out.

A wave of shock settles over his body, clinging to his muscles and his joints like static that force him to freeze in his place.

"_Ro-Roderich?"_

The brunette seems to stifle a sigh as he sees Gil, looking like the total and complete mess he is. Standing beside him is Elizaveta, the young brunette girl who he remembers being quite good friends with, and her always being infatuated with him to some degree. The recognition is clear, but neither says a thing in response.

"You know these two?"

Gilbert chokes on words, but manages a nod anyways.

Elizaveta looks crestfallen at this point; sad that she wasn't the first one Gilbert recognized. "It's nice to see you again, Gil."

"What in the hell are you doing here?" a wave of panic soars up into his chest and Gilbert can't breathe at all. He chokes and pulls in a ragged breath, and its pace rapidly increases. "I-I didn't think—"

_No. No, please! Not again!_

—

It takes about two hours before Antonio quits sobbing, and that conscience left abandoned comes back around to wave a finger in his face.

_You're destroying him from the inside out._


	2. Chapter 2

_background music:_

_undiscovered colors by the flashbulb_

* * *

Joints crunch and creak in the light of the early morning, despite the fact that when Gilbert was awake last it was only afternoon. Nerves along his spine tingle, before breaking open in an agonizing needle-like pain that spikes up and down his back and along the track of his shoulders. He takes a moment to breathe a bit before opening his eyes.

You would think he had a hangover, with the amount of creaky joints and the headache that was making its home in Gilbert's temple. The sheets are scratchy, as they always were in their apartment. Luddy was cheap, and Gilbert didn't care about shit like thread count.

In spite of the aching back, Gilbert sits up anyways, biting his fist through the pain. He wonders for a brief moment why it hurts so much, but then remembers falling in a disheveled heap on the floor of Sadiq's shop. A panic attack most likely. They've become a common occurrence.

"I see that you're awake."

"Luddy," Gilbert smiles down at his lap. "Did Sadiq call you?"

"Vash carried you home, actually."

He raises an eyebrow at this. "Carried me home?"

"He's not as stiff as you think he is," Ludwig scoffs. "He's just got a lot of pride." The blonde steps over to the side of the bed and sits down to rub Gilbert's bare shoulders.

"Thanks bro." Gilbert stiffens though when Ludwig's fingertips brush over the scars all down his back. "They're ugly, I know."

"They're _not_ ugly," his brother reaches down and kisses along the ridges of his spine. "You're most beautiful creature I've ever seen in my entire life." He whispers.

Gilbert takes a few moments, still silent. "Ma always loved you best."

"No she didn't."

"I corrupted her little angel, don't you remember?" angry tears start to build in the back of Gilbert's throat, threatening to spill. "I know you remember, Luddy. And I'm not sorry that we're like this, that she doesn't want to talk to me ever again because I'm the spawn of Satan."

"You're nothing of the sort."

Gilbert climbs over the footboard of the bed to escape, and manages enough to be able to pull a baggy sweatshirt on that's lying on the floor. He pads barefoot out into the living room with Luddy following close behind.

"We can talk about it if you want."

"I don't want to talk about anything," Gilbert reaches for his cellphone. "Talking isn't going to help."

_Three missed calls. Unknown number._

"Who in the hell…?" Gilbert dials the number and pulls the phone to his ear, a half-assed attempt at ignoring Ludwig.

"Hello?"

"Antonio," Gilbert mutters. "How did you get my number?"

He can almost hear the smile in his voice. "I have my ways, my Beilschmidt. By the way, the reason I called was because I wanted to talk with you."

"Talk?"

"Yes. But I'm afraid that today I'm not at my office. I'm at the gym right now, the pool actually. It'll be my only available time. Would you mind coming so we can talk over some things?"

Gilbert takes in a breath and exhales slowly at that thought. "Yeah. I guess. I'll be there in a little bit." His voice is hoarse and his throat is dry. The tears are long forgotten but there's a renewed sense of fear coursing through his veins.

There's a hand running through his hair now, calming and slow. It takes Gilbert a few seconds to realize that Antonio has already hung up and that he's still frozen with the phone in hand.

"Where are you going?"

"Nowhere that concerns you, Luddy."

"But—"

Gilbert shrugs him off and reaches for the door.

* * *

If someone assumes you love another, let them believe it. Because usually you won't know how much you really love them until they're gone, and you're left with a grave or a pot of ashes. And it's only a certain amount of time before they leave you.

"Sir?"

"Yeah?"

"Where would you like me to put these pictures?"

Arthur glances over his shoulder at Lili, the maid who comes everyday to clean out his apartment, which somehow gets filthy even though he's never there. She stares, holding a box full of picture frames covered in a layer of dust, most likely stowed away in the back of a closet somewhere.

He grabs one at random, and comes up with a family photo of his brother Francis and his wife Michelle, little two-year old Matthew in her arms. He grabs another, and almost drops it.

A photo of him when he was much younger, holding hands with a blonde teenager that had on glasses and a cowboy hat. Of course Arthur looked uncomfortable, he hated pictures being taken of him.

"Um, sir?"

He breaks out of his reverie and shoves the pictures back in the box. "Put 'em back where you found 'em, I'll deal with them later."

"Okay."

* * *

When Gilbert arrives, he already feels anxious.

Standing next to a big pool of water isn't helping at all either, and he scoots around the perimeter to see Antonio making laps. The place is absolutely empty, and that is not a good thing. It's not long before he notices the albino, standing awkwardly about four feet from the edge of the pool with his hands clasped together through the baggy sweatshirt.

Antonio climbs out and reaches for a towel, shaking his hair dry.

"What did you want to talk about?"

"You," the Spaniard smiles lightly. "I feel like I should know you better after all these years of not knowing much about one another. Plus, we have a deal, don't we?"

"A deal…" Gilbert's throat goes dry again. "Yeah, I suppose. What exactly are you going to do with it?"

"I have my reasons," Antonio stiffens at the comment. He'd always been a bit touchy… "Do you remember high school, Gilbert?"

"Yes, and it wasn't particularly the favorite point in my life." The Spaniard starts to circle around Gilbert, towel still in hand. But it makes him nervous, not being able to see him in his line of vision, so the albino jerks in Antonio's direction to catch a glance of him setting his towel down. "W-why do we have to talk about high school?"

"I'd like to see the scars, Gilbert. It's been years since I've seen them, and I know it makes you real anxious to be around a lot of water. That's why you'd always get out of gym class when we'd have to swim. But you never told Francis or I what it was _really _about. I know you have those scars and that irrational fear of water, but you always kept quiet."

"I don't have to tell you," Gilbert feels crowded as Antonio edges towards him, so he takes a few steps back towards the pool. "And why would you want to see them after all these years?"

Antonio grabs him by the collar of his sweatshirt. "Because I want to hear you _admit it._ I know what your mother did to you, but I just want to hear you _say it._"

"No," panic rises in his chest, and then soars and he screams as he feels a hand push him back into the pool. He struggles and inhales a bit of water, choking. There's a hand in his hair though, holding him in a strong grip down in the water.

_And he remembers._

_"Ma. Ma, what are you doing? Ma? _Ma?!"

_A knife cuts into his back, shallow but still just enough to force wounds upon. Jagged and uneven, scrawling out words into his flesh as he kicks and screams but he knows no one will hear because they live out in the country. Ma chants under her breath, praying for God to save her son._

_And then she drags him into the bathroom where a tub full of water waits._

_Smears of blood are left on the carpet and tile floor as Gilbert's mother drags him by his feet, screaming in agony and fear as she dumps him into the claw foot bathtub. There's a hand in his hair, holding him under the water as he slowly but surely drowns._

_And then the hand is gone, and he rises from the lukewarm water with a splash, but he's still shivering anyways. He drags himself out onto the tile floor, splattered with red here and there and lays stomach down on the cool surface, attempting to calm his terrorized, heated body._

_The water in the tub is tinged pink._

Gilbert's dragged out by his hair and thrown down onto the tile beside the pool, shivering and sobbing and coughing up chlorine. He feels too constricted with the soggy, baggy sweatshirt and clumsily rips it off himself.

Antonio stares in childish wonder.

There's a pentagram carved over his right shoulder blade and the words "_God save his soul" _all down his back, so big you could read it from ten feet away. Hands reach out and brush over the jagged letters and the symbol, a giggle rising in the Spaniard's throat.

"You corrupted her baby boy, that's what you did Gilbert." Antonio mutters into Gilbert's ear. "Because he is your brother, yet you love him more than you should."

The albino shakes and reaches up to claw at Antonio's arms. "Don't leave me here." He whispers. "Don't leave me here alone."

But the Spaniard pries himself away and walks over to gather his towel. "If you get me his blood by next week, I'll be able to save your brother from death. Do you trust me?"

"You just tried to drown me."

Antonio smiles and chuckles under his breath. "I think that's fair enough."

And he leaves Gilbert, shivering and half in shock as he curls up into a ball, trying preserve what's left of him.

* * *

Antonio stays after office hours for absolutely no reason at all. He claims it's because he wants to finish paperwork up here rather than at home, but it's really only because he likes to be alone.

But today it seems, he has a few visitors instead.

"Toni."

The blonde siblings stand in the doorway of his office, staring at him in his chair. The Spaniard spins around a few times, ignoring them as they watch.

"Come home with us Toni. Please."

"I don't have a home anymore, Bella." Antonio stops to stare right back at them. "If they ever accepted me back, I'd be nothing more than dirt to them."

"We still love you."

"And who is 'we'?" Antonio feels anger rising in his chest, and he grips his chair in an attempt to not hit someone or something. "All I have is you two, who still insist after all these years that I should just give up and ask for forgiveness."

"He loves you, we all still love you," Bella smiles. "Just come home with us."

"I don't have a choice in this anymore, Isabella," Antonio rises from his seat, and jabs a finger in Nate's direction. "And _you._ You were the one who got me into this mess in the first place."

"I did nothing of the sort."

"Toni, _please._" Bella's smile quivers and falls.

"I found him," Antonio whispers. "I found him, and I won't go home now. Not until I fix him."

"You're breaking him, Toni." Bella pleads. "That's all you're doing. You're not thinking in your right mind, you just need to leave and you'll feel better. Just come home with us, we want you back."

Antonio sighs. "Like I said before, I don't have a choice in this anymore."


End file.
